What's that Lassie?  You're Stuck in the Well!
by Ms. Mysteria
Summary: "Lassie," said Shawn in his matter-of-factly-movie-reference voice, "I'm pretty such that it's Timmy who falls down the well. Unless, is he down there with you?" Pure crack.  An idea I've had for a while.


**Hello world of Fanfiction readers! This is my first Psych fanfic ever and my first fanfic on this account. Sorry for any OOCness, I don't really know the characters too well yet but I will continue to do research on them by watch Psych episodes pretty much daily.**

**Thanks CristinaMortiva for betaing! Go and check her out she writes for the Walking Dead, White Collar and Criminal Minds.**

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><p>Carlton just knew that it was going to be one of <em>those<em> days. The ones where absolutely nothing went right and it seemed like everything and anything was trying to make it worse and he prayed he would not have to deal with Shawn today. It all began when he slept through his alarm this morning and ended up being an hour late for work. When he finally got there, he found the coffee pot to be empty and had to make a fresh batch. Almost immediately after he sat down at his desk to do some paperwork, the coffee just had to spill soiling the papers and staining his suit. He just sat there for a moment in frustration trying his best to calm himself (which had been quite difficult considering his legs were suffering first degree burns at the moment). Lassiter quickly took care of the mess with a few paper towels and sat back down at his desk ready to shoot at the fool who dared to cross his path this morning. Even Juliet kept her head down in order to avoid any eye contact.

Surprisingly, the first person to challenge the threatening aura that almost visibly swirled around him was the Chief and after a brief meeting with her, Carlton soon found his day to be looking better and better with the assignment of a new case. A robbery in a local store just a few blocks from the station but the crime scene had already been taken care of and all the detective had to do was question a few suspects. He would have rather been given a tougher case like a homicide or possibly a serial killing but with the morning's events Lassiter figured that those should be saved for a better day.

It didn't come as much as a surprise when the head detective found himself chasing after one of the suspects who had run just after he introduced himself. He hadn't even gotten to ask a question or even state why he was there! The guy just bolted through the house and out the back door. Carlton sighed inaudibly before pursuing the possible perpetrator. He knew he should have stayed at his desk today.

It wasn't long until detective Lassiter found himself pursuing the man through a grassy field with his trusty Glock 17 in his hand. There was barely any cover for the man who was practically running in a straight line. Carlton could have had a clear target if the man hadn't gotten such a head start. Even though the head detective had already deemed this as one of his worse days, he would have never guessed what was going to occur just a few feet in front of him. Hidden by the tall blades of grass was a low ring of bricks that had been deteriorating for who knows how long. The tip of his shoe caught on it causing the man to tip forward and gravity took over from there. The gun flew from his hand as it met the other side of the brick ring. He attempted to grab onto something but he only succeeded in getting a bit of dirt under his nails and cutting the tips of his fingers.

As if to add salt onto the wound, Carlton found his ankle twisted when he reached the bottom of apparent well (he found that water came half way up the lower parts of his legs). It was cramped but the now stuck detective found that it wasn't impossible for him to sit down in order to get some pressure off of his leg. He shrugged it off nonchalantly and went to pull out his phone, which he did, but dropped it. His phone 'plopped' into the water and was sucked into the mud. By the time he found it, it was too late and the phone was waterlogged and inutile.

"Damn it" he muttered to himself. With any luck O'Hara would get worried at some point and track the last coordinates on his cell before it had died.

Hours passed (or possibly minutes it felt like hours) until Carlton heard voices. They were faint and he couldn't be sure if they were just his imagination or not but it was worth a shot if it would help him get out of this god forsaken hole.

"Hey!" He shouted, "Is somebody there? I need help!"

The voices fell away suddenly making any hope that the detective had that he had actually heard someone diminish.

"Hello?" He called, "Somebody get me out of here!"

They were weak but footsteps could be heard coming towards him and then two faces could be seen blocking out the sun. Lassiter groaned, not these two idiots.

"Lassie," said Shawn in his matter-of-factly-movie-reference voice, "I'm pretty such that it's Timmy who falls down the well. Unless, is he down there with you?"

The tips of his ears turned bright red in anger. As soon as he got his hands back on his gun…

"Spencer," Lassiter tried not to growl, "why am I not surprised?"

"You okay down there Lassiface?"

Lassiter did a quick assessment of the damage. Other than the twisted ankle he hadn't received any serious wounds. "Fine. Just get me out of here, Spencer." He barked.

Shawn said something quickly to Gus and got down on his stomach. He reached out his hands as far as possible. Carlton eager seized the offer and stood, wincing and giving a soft hiss as weight was put on his ankle, he locked hands with the fake psychic and allowed himself to be pulled up. His feet scrabbled on the bricks to try and help elevate some of the work only to make his ankle hurt worse. Once he was free he clicked the Glock back into his holster and just let himself lay on the ground.

"How…?" Lassiter began to ask but stopped as Shawn's hand started its typical journey to his temple. "You and I both know that that's a load of bullshit."

Shawn frowned. "The Spirits want me to tell you that they're upset with you now. They try to help you out and all you do is yell at them? That's a good way to get on their bad side, Lassie."

Carlton snorted but either in amusement or hysterics from the day he couldn't tell. "Well, I need to track down a runner." He pushed himself up.

It wasn't a lie. He did need to find the guy who had run but it was definitely going to get done tomorrow. Right now, he was going home and going to crawl into bed until this wretched day was over.

"I'm getting strong vibes that you should just go home and take the rest of the day off. You've had it pretty bad since you woke up; maybe it's time to call it quits? Just for the rest of the day." Shawn suggested.

"I have work to do, Spencer." He argued walking away from the pair.

"You're not going to get much done while your ankle's like that." Shawn protested, "Go home, let your ankle get better. Besides, I have a strong feeling that you won't need to track down that robbery suspect of yours."

Lassiter frowned. The man wasn't psychic and they both knew it, but the detective had yet to figure out how exactly he knew what he did. He felt that even after he figured out the secrets of the other's work, it would still be creepy.

"Alright Spencer." Head Detective Carlton crumbled, "This time, and this time only, I'll take your advice. Thanks for getting me out of the well but if anyone at the station gets wind of this, I will find you wherever you are and I will shoot you. Got it?" He asked but could not believe he had just thanked Shawn Spencer, 'It really is an odd day' he thought.

"Yep, see it's right here in my hand." Spencer jokingly held out his fist before opening it. "Oh no! Gus catch it! It's getting away!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes and trudged away from the pair wanting to get some distance away from those two idiots.

oOo

"Detective Lassiter!" the detective turned his head hearing his name only to see a group of people crowded around the coffee machine.

"Is Timmy alright?" One of them asked.

Carlton frowned. "SPENCER!" He roared stomping towards the door of the station reaching for his trusty friend: The Glock.

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><p><strong>Please Review! I'd really like to know how I did for my first time! Criticism is welcomed, constructive criticism even more.<strong>

**Thank you for reading! Expect more... eventually...**

**~Ms. Mysteria**

_Published: 3/31/2012 Written:3/30/2012 Word Count: 1,419 Betad by: CristinaMortiva_


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